


Bedside Manners

by BumbleBooty



Series: Requests [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Exhibitionism, First Meetings, Hospital Sex, Immobility, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, beginning of war, immobility kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBooty/pseuds/BumbleBooty
Summary: A new medic is tasked with cleaning Ironhide's wounds after a battlefield accident.





	Bedside Manners

**Author's Note:**

> The Party Ambulance strikes again.
> 
> For Meat on my discord server! Thanks for the request!

Ironhide was enjoying his nap- well, as much as he could with that annoying fragging beeping in the room. He lolled his head, not bothering to online his optics before turning to yell at Kup for whatever the slag he was doing. It came out as a half-garbled mess, but Ironhide knew the grizzled old mech would know _'s_ _h_ _ut the hell up'_ when he heard it. 

Quiet laughter- that was distinctly  _not_  his aged roommate- made him groan and hunt down the code to active his optics. Probably just some fragbot the old coot had brought in that wanted another round before leaving. He barely got them online before a pain shot up his leg and through his helm. He snarled as he reset his optics against the glaring light, blindly using his servo to try to push the strange white and red mech away. 

To his eternal surprise, the mech gripped his servo with iron strength and slammed it down onto the table, before the long digits flickered out of sight and magnetized him to the table. 

The mech didn't even flinch when he began swearing. "Who the frag do ya think ya are?! Ya can't fraggin' magnetize meh to a pit-slagged berth like some overactive-"

The mech instantly cut him off with a vicious tongue. " _I_ am a fragging  _medic_ , and so long as I deem it  _necessary_  to have you bound to the 'pit-slagged' table, your glitchy afterburner will  _remain_  magnetized to the frelling table. Keep your slag-sucking mouth shut or I'll bolt a little trinket or two where you won't freening like it."

Ironhide leant back against the glorified rock that was the medbay pillows in surprise.

He watched the mech carefully for all of two kilks, trying to work through the mildly-sluggish processor he had awakened with. "Gotta’ bit of a manifold mouth, don' ya?" The mech rolled his optics, yanking none-too-kindly on a piece of shrapnel in what was left of his knee joint. Ironhide hissed as the pain overtook him for a brief moment before glaring down. The mech gave him a cheeky grin with his chin on cocked shoulder, quirking his brow as a silent challenge and using the tweezers to drop the bloodied scrap into the tray in a strangely attractive manner. "Also, shoul'nt this be don' in a fraggin’ operatin' room?"

"Oh boo-hoo. We didn't have a room available, and this is pretty much basic repairs. Nothing close to anything  _vital_  after all." Ironhide scoffed, trying his best to kick the smirking medic. " _Ah_  think 's close to somethin' important!"

The medic scoffed, ignoring the comment in favor of returning his attention to cleaning the stumps for the CMO to look at later. The silence that fell between them allowed Ironhide to study this new mech- mostly because there wasn’t anything else to fraggin’ do in the medbay. It was one of the reasons he always hated the place- bland walls with blander mecha residing within.

He assumed the mech before him was a transfer that had joined them on the recent Iaconian merger. They had lost another sector to the cons just over ten orns ago, so quite a few of the rank and file were filtering through to their new positions. The pain of the repairs didn't bother Ironhide too much- he'd get his payback when this prettybot hit field training. 

He let a smirk of his own spread over his lip plates. Oh, the things he would put this mech through when he got him onto the training fields. He bit back a dark chuckle as lithe, nimble servos danced along now-useless wiring. This mech probably wouldn’t last very long out in the field.

The cons always shot at the attractive ones, and the pristine white and red was a gigantic ‘SHOOT HERE’ bullseye. The fact that he was polished to a brilliant shine was the literal icing on the cake.

Ironhide tilted his helm as his optics roamed over the boxy frame. To him, seemed counterproductive to paint your frame in a color that stained so easily, but he assumed it was for vanity or some slag like that. Had to make up for the lack of personality  _somehow_.

Ironhide’s optics drifted down from the handsome faceplate and his smirk turned lewd. While his chest was flatter than most- again, a depressing norm for ambulance alts- the broad windshield was more than ample for some amusement with glossa or servo. The soft pulsing of his spark-  ** _that's_** _where that fragging beeping was coming from! -_  displayed transparently on the glass, and Ironhide would certainly remember that trick if the mech ever found his way to the weapon’s specialist’s berth.

The true prize was his tapered waist, designed and maintained to an angle that had the lucky fragger in the berth beside Ironhide's outright drooling from the delicious view.  He would place a year's worth of creds that he could  _almost_  touch his digits together if he could grip that waist with both servo.

If the polished frame was the icing, the long legs crosed neatly at the knee were the copper shavings littered atop. He still ignored Ironhide's hungry gaze, his own optics and servos focused solely on repairing the leaking stubs. He could barely remember the days where the sight of processed Energon would upset his digestive tank.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a lance of pain struck his leg, and the medic cursed as a spew of Energon hit him square in the stomach. Ironhide bit back a chuckle- fragger shouldn’t have been sitting that close. The burn of cauterization was swift, and the medic stood to grab another transfusion bag. Judging from the amount of Energon down his front, Ironhide had apparently spilled more than he thought onto the berth. Blinking in surprise, he craned his helm as much as possible to peer into the trash bin beside him. 

Multiple empty transfusion bags were carelessly tossed inside to be cleaned up properly once time allowed. Ironhide returned his original position before the medic realized he was slowly weakening the magnets holding him in place. When the mech returned, Ironhide didn’t even bother hiding the way his optics appreciated the lean frame.

Sure, the gore was a bit of a turn-off, but that’s what washracks were for. With that out of the way, it would be an easy feat to imagine those smooth white panels in a  _variety_ of positions. The calmness that the medic held as he strung up a new Energon line was strange for a low-ranked medic, but sometimes the Autobots got lucky. Ironhide assumed this one was desensitized enough to hold his gag reflex back- Probably was a reformed guttermech then. Ironhide smirked.

"So,  _nurse_ , what's the damage?" The mech's servos stilled, and those stern optics settled on his own.

"That would be  _doctor_  to you, and you tell me. You're the piston-head that stepped on a fragging mine." 

 _That_  made Ironhide reset his optics. " _I did **what**?"_  

The medic set an Energon-covered scalpel next to Ironhide’s thigh with a sigh, making sure to rest the cutting edge on a cleaning cloth. Pink stained servos folded their digits together to create a soft cradle for his chin to rest on, and the medic grinned  _oh so politely_  at him before speaking slowly. "You put pede on mine. Mine go  _boom_.  _Leg_  go boom. Understand?" 

Ironhide's surprise faded to annoyance. "I  ** _get_**  that part you son of a scrapheap! How the  _frag_  did I get into a minefield?"

The medic remained silent for a long moment as the smugness faded to concern, then one of the sticky-  _sticky?! Gross! -_ servos gripped his chin and a light appeared at the tip of the free pointer digit. "Follow the light with your optics." 

Ironhide growled, but did as requested. 

The medic’s plush lips turned down at the corners. 

Clamps came from the mech's subspace, and within twenty nanokilks the mech was abruptly dropping the berth to lie flat. Ironhide tried to flail, but the failing magnets managed to do their job rather well. The weapon's specialist nearly foamed with rage and had no problem littering the air with substantial curses about the medic's manners- right up until sharpened servos slid along the locks holding his helm together. "-learn to respect a mech! H-Hey! Don't ya need CMO approval for helm tamperin'?!" 

" _Hush_ you walking recycle bin! You have a delay in your left optic and  _obviously_  some form of memory loss if you can't remember two orn on the battlefield! That mine probably knocked something...loose..." The last of the sentence was barely above a murmur as the mech grew distracted, and Ironhide had to fight back his increasing spark pulse as those stained digits occasionally stroked over his faceplate to test reflexes. Frelling medics and their nimble digits.

After biting back the urge to pull those digits into his mouth- he  _knew_  how sensitive medic’s servos were, and he was currently entertaining himself with thoughts of how quickly this one would overload with a good suck or two- he muttered with a petulance of a mech  _magnetized to a fragging table_. "At least keep talkin' to me  _docbot_. Don't want ya fallin’ asleep or somethin’ wit’ yer servos in my processor." 

A burst of pressure in his helm was the only warning before the magnets temporarily failed- juuust long enough for his own fist to reflexively strike him in the faceplate. An innocent 'oops~!' prompted re-magnification, and Ironhide outright growled. Sexy or not-  _frag this medic_.

"To be straightforward, the visual cortex is located in the back of the processor, while the finer motor controls are located on both sides- towards the back. Using  _magnificent_  deduction powers, I'm assuming the damage is somewhere on the back, toward the right side. To be specific and use terms you probably..." He paused for a moment, and Ironhide shuddered as a strange feeling of cold cascaded through him, followed by the sudden itch of cleanser.

".... don’t know, the Modella and Temporatic regions are our biggest and safest bet. They are rather close, and a big enough hit- like, perhaps, a fraggin' microchip moron such as yourself stepping on a  _fragging land mine_  would  _probably_  be enough to jostle a wire or three loose." 

Less than three nanokilks later, a proud purr rumbled from the ambulance. "Normally I would sedate you for this, but we don't have any of those at the moment. I'll give you painkillers after, so take a deep breath and prep for pain on three. One, two, -" 

Ironhide gasped as a scorching pain slipped through his entire being. He recovered probably a full kilk later to the medic sitting prim and pristine beside him- on his berth, may he add- and Ironhide shot him a glare. "That was  _not_ three."

The medic smirked, and Ironhide ignored the sudden flutters in his stomach as those servos gripped his chin once more.  _Frag._ The repair seemed to make the entire world more vibrant-The walls of the medbay were gleaming an optimistic orange, the lights embedded into the wall chased away any shadows that might have loomed overhead.

 And now, everything about the mech before him to be intensified… including the melody that slipped from between his lip plates. Good to know his audials had been muffled due to the damage, and  _pit_  that beeping must have been loud to wake him up! "Oh, I know. That was payback for calling me a nurse. Now, be a good patient and tell me if your vision goes all lopsided- follow the light again."

Ironhide spared he half-nanokilk to glare, but followed the light obediently. His medic purred his approval, patting his cheek before snarking back with ‘ _not so hard to follow directions, is it?’._ Ironhide didn’t ignore how the servos lingered to stroke down his chin, just slightly missing his lips as the mech leant in, the free servo sliding up his thigh with the stickiness of dried Energon-

Then he was yanking the stool back down to the lower half of the berth. The medic sat with a grace that was _au naturale,_ and Ironhide made a mental note of how the pulse on the mech’s windshield stuttered when Ironhide was caught staring. 

He relaxed as much as he could when the scalpel was lifted once more. He lolled his helm down as much as he could to watch, but grew slightly distracted when a small patch on his leg caught his attention. The painkillers he had apparently been slipped should kick in soon, and the placement should be easy to remove before the mech got in trouble for overmedicating a patient. Ironhide’s gaze slid back up to the smirk that watched him.

The slight pinpricks of pain in his legs were becoming hard to ignore now with the resensitization of the sensors, but the gentle strokes along the remaining thigh plating gave him something to focus on instead. 

He spared the mech most of his attitude after that, as Ironhide admittedly impressed with the skill he had already been shown. If he could dance along processors this easily, he  _probably_  wasn’t a newbie medic. The realization was met with half resignation and half whole-sparked acceptance. While it was a pity he wouldn’t get to chase that gorgeous aft around the training ring, they'd  _needed_  a decent medic around here for some time now. Old Windscreen was a good CMO, but his years were adding up and taking a toll on his frame. Ironhide found himself hoping this mech was looser than that old coot was.

Another slow roam of his optics had him silently wishing it was a permanent placement. Those plump lips would look fantastic around his spike, and that wicked tongue would surely be just as good with pleasure as it was with returning the insults he had been given so far. Nimble medically-trained servos were obviously going to make quick work of any plating or wiring that had the blessing to fall beneath their touch, and Ironhide’s spark sped up slightly as he thought of ways to use that increased sensitivity to his advantage.  

Ironhide found himself smirking as he relaxed into the berth further, giving the mech time to focus as he finished off the magnets. The medic focused his work with a determination that had Ironhide half-hard under his codpiece, and he didn’t even bother hiding when his engine would rev when those agile servos slid a little too high on his plating to be wholly innocent.

The squeeze on the plating of his hips was the only signal he had gotten that the medic had completed his work. Well, that and the way the medic casually glanced around to check on all the patients that had nodded off at some point during Ironhide’s extended care.

The smirk that crossed those handsome faceplates had the spark pulse on the wide chest jump comically, and the mech put a digit to his lips without a single thought to the Energon that stained them.

Servos trailed up his thighs and sides before the mech bent down to cover the charred red plating with his own. The height of the berth gave the mech just enough leeway to press their frames together- chest to primus blessed chest, and Ironhide purred when the mech stopped with their lip plates just a fiberoptic away. “Evenin’ docbot. Gonna be takin care of me toda’?”

The mech smirked, and Ironhide swore his codpiece would break in two if he got any more aroused.

The smirk grew as he lightly blew on Ironhide’s lips, straightening up with the waste bin in his servo as he drug their plating together with his retreat. Ironhide growled as he walked to the other side of the room with a particular sway to his hips, but the digit returned to his lips with an expectant quirk of his brow. Ironhide settled in, testing how much he had managed to weaken the magnet with an unreadable smirk.

The empty Energon drips were removed from the silver container far too fragging slowly before being placed into the hazard bins- and the bin itself was placed into a sterilization wash. Ironhide didn't complain one bit when the mech filled a sanitization bucket with cleanser, dipping a cloth into the steaming liquid before wringing it out- using only wrist movement and nimble digits.  _Frag that was a sight_.

The mech returned with an absolutely amused look, sitting primly beside Ironhide once more. The weapons mech was so close to fully snapping this magnet and forcing that beautiful frame onto the berth instead, but he remained still as the first soft stroke of cloth started at his helm- wiping away the Energon as those delicious red hips sat just out of reach of his servos. The quiet was disturbed as the mech muttered to himself. “Look at how fragging  _disgusting_  you look. Smothered in dirt and Energon. Almost as filthy as that mouth of yours- I wouldn’t worry though...” Ironhide bit back a grin as he saw the mech’s optics dilate. “I’ll take care of you today.”

 _Oh-so-slowly_  he was cleansed of the stickiness and the muck. His helm glittered after the careful attention of the microfiber cloth, and he  _knew_  the slagging medic was getting just as turned on as he was. The bastard easily ignored it in favor of cleaning his neck cabling-  _cord by frelling cord_. A determined spot of grease-slickened Energon made those delicious lips turn into a pouting frown. “Even the _grease_ doesn't want to behave. How… _annoying._ ”

Ironhide swore his spark slipped a beat when he was straddled... for extra balance, of course, as the medic got a better angle. The sticky cable had slightly more pressure applied to it, and the medic balanced his weight on his forearms to even out the pressure on Ironhide's chest. Black servos strained to touch the glossy white thighs, but the mech pressed his legs close to Ironhide’s sides as he triumphantly hummed. The quiet  _scraaape_  of glass-on-glass had Ironhide purring as the mech straightened up to leisurely clean his windshield. The mech’s vents quietly onlined, and Ironhide could feel the heat radiating from where their groins were pressed together. 

Another dousing of the steaming hot cleanser had him gasping, not even bothering to hide the lust growing in his field. The medic smirked as some of the light pink liquid splashed onto his own thigh, and Ironhide  _almost_  wished he hadn’t looked up to meet that knowing smirk. 

“What’s wrong? Getting a little hot from some simple bedside manners?” Ironhide did his best to sound seductive as he responded, but the shakiness in his voice was a fragging  _traitor_. “W-who doesn’t like a mech giving some… personal assistance?”

Ratchet chuckled as he wiped down Ironhide’s stomach.  “There are a few… ungrateful mecha on this base.” The adjustment had their hips grinding together, and both fought against their pride to keep their voices down. Ironhide purred instead, nuzzling the back of his helm against the pillow. 

“Youngin’s ah bet. Wouldn’ know good taste ‘f it hit’em in the faceplate.” The mech grinned, leaning down to pull Ironhide’s servo free from the magnet’s grasp. The surprise when it came up easily flashed through his optics, and Ironhide made his move. Servos shot up with enough force to free themselves from the magnet’s grasp, and Ironhide knew Unicron himself would have been proud when that gorgeous plating hit the berth. Who said legs were required to flip a mech? 

Ironhide’s engine rumbled when he flicked the switch to reset the magnet, effectively immobilizing the medic. The wild look of surprise and outright arousal had Ironhide purring as he braced himself on what was left of his legs. “Wasswrong? Didn’t thin’ ah’d know how ta escape a  _magnet?”_

He didn’t bother giving the mech time to respond- those lips had his name all over them. It would be rude not to respond! 

Their first kiss was a tangle of dentae and glossae. Ironhide’s servos gratefully roamed over the beautiful windshield that  _still_  displayed his spark pulse. With a kiss broken far too soon, Ironhide allowed his glossae to follow the bouncing line. Prompting a whimper from the medic was as easy as dragging his dentae against the thickened glass, and Ironhide grunted quietly when those beautiful thighs slid up to encircle his waist. He squeezed them affectionately but wasted no time in sinking his digits into the valve that was suddenly exposed to him.

The hitch in the red and white chest was foreplay on its own. Red digits wiggled into the dripping heat in time with the sporadic hitching in vents, savoring a valve so tight he could barely plunge two digits into its depths. Ironhide’s free servo gripped the cleanser pail by the edge, carelessly upturning it onto the flat stomach before him. The mech gasped as residual spray cascaded over his limbs, twitching as the heat washed away a good chunk of the cycled Energon on his plating.

Ironhide watched with hungry optics and twitching servos as his mech gripped the rag that had helpfully landed on his stomach, but didn’t expect it to lash out and smack him in the helm. The medic flipped them over once more, pinning him with his weight. Rivets of cleanser ran down his frame, and Ironhide outright laughed. “Ov’rride?”

“Override. Now that you’ve made a mess, be a _good_ patient and let me take care of you. We don’t want any wounds reopening, do we now?”

Ironhide scoffed as he allowed his spike to pressurize. “Ah dunno docbot. Ya _sure_ ya don’ need me to stay overnight for surveillance?” The mech laughed aloud, covering his mouth as it dropped into a moan. Ironhide’s digits clenched down on those delicious thighs as his spike was rutted against, and he could feel thick drops of lubricant smearing themselves all over the pliable mesh of his spike.

One of those red servos gripped him fully, and Ironhide _almost_ whined with need- _fragging medic hands!_ The twisting pumps had him leaking transfluid embarrassingly quickly, but he didn’t bother complaining until the mech lifted his hips to line up. “D-… Aren’t ya gonna stretch first?”

The medic grinned with pit shining through his optics as his other servo was raised, a trail of lubrication connecting the middle three. Ironhide’s engine redlined as he was encased in heat in one fell swoop. His lover’s engine purred as he pressed his servos to Ironhide’s stomach, readjusting his legs to a more comfortable position. Ironhide caressed the red of the mech’s hips, lightly tracing up until that slim waist rested in his servos.

To his surprise, the mech on his spike was larger than he looked-he had at  _least_ an entire servo’s span between the nearest points of his middle digits. Ironhide growled his approval as the mech smirked down at him. The next surprise came in the form of a gentle rocking- not the bouncing thrust he had anticipated.

The mech laughed quietly as he bent down to steal a soft kiss, grinding his hips against his new lover. The groan that escaped them both was lost in their tangling glossae.

Ironhide tried to chase those plush lip plates when the mech leant up, but servos on his chest stopped him. When the mech finally got the angle to begin bouncing on his spike, Ironhide’s helm flopped back. This mech was going to kill him, he was positive.

The clenching heat milked him with each rise and fall, and Ironhide guided him through each thrust with quieted growls. A red servo clamped over his mouth as the thrusting increased, leaving no room for anything but the need crawling through their frames and the hushed sounds of slick interfacing.

Ironhide finished first, arching helplessly into the servos on his frame. The sudden wash of heat through his valve shoved his lover over the edge after him. The white helm thumped uselessly against his chest plate for a moment, and both allowed their engines to purr quietly in the silence of the medbay.

Right up until a heavy sigh to the left made Ironhide jump, drawing a surprised curse from his lover as the mech leant up with an annoyed look. When optics landed on CMO Windscreen looking them over with a mix of annoyance and amusement, there was panic from the warrior and outright smugness from the one _still on his fragging spike._

“Now Ratchet, I told you to keep your valve out of your medical care.” The old mech’s voice was devoid of any real anger, but the amusement was nearly tangible. The mech rolled his optics and scoffed. “And I told you I would _try_ \- not that I would _succeed_. _”_ Ironhide blinked.

Ratchet? The wonder-medic from _K_ _aon?!_

The mech- Ratchet- turned to him with a sparkle of mischievousness in his optic.

The upcoming CMO was a permanent transfer Ironhide had been briefed on a week ago- wicked temper, but with a skill that has been unheard of throughout the generations… And one of Orion-

One of _Optimus Prime’s_ closest friends.

Ratchet chuckled as he rose off Ironhide’s spike, allowing it to flop down tiredly onto the red stomach as the mech below stared with slack-jawed amazement. “Anyway, I’m Ratchet. If you don’t mind, blow your legs off more often.” The medic patted his cheekplate as he swung his legs off the berth, winking at the current CMO as he moved towards the private post-op washrack. “His legs are fixed, but he had helm damage. Already repaired.” Windscreen nodded as Ratchet waved it off, looking Ironhide over with growing confusion as Ratchet passed him.

"Why didn't you take him to an operating room to repair his legs?" When Ratchet turned to wink, Ironhide dropped his helm back onto the pillow with a servo muffling his laughter. _Great, he's an **exhibitionist**._


End file.
